


Soulful

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [36]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Illnesses, M/M, Souls, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Trust Issues, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 11:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Stretch is still recovering from being sick and Edge is recovering from dealing with him being sick. They make it work.





	1. Soulful

* * *

It anyone ever asked him about his job— and sometimes they did, Jeff had been very curious on their lunch outing and had asked some…unusual questions – Edge could tell them, truthfully and without reservation, that he was proud of what he did. His work at the Embassy helped allow for their kind to survive in the Human world, which could shift from accepting to cruel with breathtaking swiftness. They were carving out a space for Monsters here, and if some days it seemed to take far too long, that for every step forward they were forced to take two back, Edge could comfort himself with the fact that he was not alone and knowledge that things could be far worse. He knew that entirely too well. 

But it didn’t mean he couldn’t be relieved when Friday rolled around.

When he opened the front door, he had nothing more strenuous on his mind than locking his laptop away where he wouldn’t be tempted by it and making a light dinner, something appropriate for a cranky skeleton who was still recovering from an illness. Stretch was much better but was frustrated with himself, his HP, and seemingly the world in general that he wasn’t back to his normal self, wild bursts of energy tempered by naps. Patience had never been one of Stretch’s traits.

What he saw when he walked inside gave Edge a pause. It was the first time he’d come home this week and not found Stretch on the sofa, waiting crossly and somewhat sharp-tongued, ready to wield that weapon at the first sign of over-protectiveness. 

The first day back on their normal agenda had been the worst in many ways. Edge had barely been able to focus on his work, meticulously followed his promised schedule to only text Stretch every two hours, and then waiting with apprehension until Stretch replied, often curtly and with a creative amount of swearing. 

His worry had not been reassured when he finally returned home. Stretch had looked honestly haggard, visibly weary, and it had been difficult to resist simple scooping him up and carrying him straight back to the hospital. Which Edge knew would have gotten him an armful of spitting, furious skeleton and likely a forced teleportation that would have left him in a less than ideal state to enforce anything, being that vomiting and caretaking didn’t mesh well. 

Instead, he’d disguised the subtle press of his wrist against Stretch’s forehead beneath a kiss of greeting, although from Stretch’s look he had not been fooled by his attempt at subtlety, and it had revealed no resurgence of his fever. Edge had tamped down his instincts and only made dinner, waiting until Stretch had eaten as much as he could manage before pulling him into his arms. 

Snuggling as a guise for protectiveness was an acceptable form of coddling for Stretch, and Edge took advantage of it as much as he could. More often than not, holding him was a catalyst for a nap, and if that was what was needed to get him to sleep, Edge was more than willing to endure it.

Every day at been a little bit better, a little less visible exhaustion, and Stretch was willing to eat a little more, getting up a bit for a few light chores. Yesterday, he’d been more or less normal, he’d mentioned he was thinking about heading to the bookstore if he was up to it. To find him not on the sofa sent a frisson of fear through Edge and he fought it down, determined not to be overbearing. Rus was doing much better, he was obviously just somewhere in the house and not lying anywhere, unconscious and hurt, he was—

“come upstairs!” Floated down from the open bedroom door.

Ah. Perhaps he was feeling _much_ better then. 

Their bedroom had been used for nothing more than sleep since they’d gotten home from the hospital. Not that Edge was complaining, not at all. Sex had been the furthest thing from his mind this past week.

Even yesterday, when Stretch had settled into his arms on the sofa with a certain eagerness after dinner. The smell of cigarettes had been conspicuously absent, Edge had inhaled nothing but the warm sweetness of his magic. But Stretch hadn't initiated anything, and Edge was reluctant to, concerned that Stretch would agree whether or not he was up to it, and how upset he would be if he was too tired to continue. 

He never wanted their lovemaking to be something to be endured. And he was patient. 

Not so patient that he didn’t take the stairs two at a time.

In the bedroom, Stretch was sitting cross legged on the comforter, his normal hoodie pulled off and crumpled aggravatingly on the floor, leaving him in a plain black tank top.

“Hello,” Edge said, drawing the word out in a husky drawl and Stretch visibly shivered.

“hold that thought, morgan freeman, and come here.” Instead of pulling Edge down, he patted the bed across from him. A little confused, he nonetheless sat willingly, waiting for Stretch to reveal his intentions.

“i’m feeling a lot better,” Stretch began slowly. There was a warm flush of orange in his cheek bones, something a little shy in his smile. “and i thought maybe you’d want to see my soul when it isn’t wired in like frankenstein.”

Edge swallowed hard against the sudden rush of magic that filled his mouth, hot and thick. He did, of course he did, it was a show of trust beyond words, “Rus—“

“i already know what you’re thinking,” Stretch reached up, his fingertips gentle against the line of Edge’s jaw. “you’re thinking of saying that i don’t have to, that i shouldn’t feel compelled just because of what happened. well, I don’t and i want to. all i want to know is, do you want this?”

“Yes,” Edge admitted. How could he say anything else, faced with that quiet honesty.

Stretch only nodded, letting his hand fall back into his lap. “do you want to pull it, or you want me to?”

“I will,” Edge said softly. Cautiously, he tugged off a glove and settled his bare hand against Stretch’s sternum. He could already feel the wild pulse of it, strong enough to leave a ghostly impression in the very air. Stretch was more nervous than he was letting on. 

He didn’t ask if Stretch was sure, didn’t doubt or drag things out. Magic gathered at his fingertips, deep crimson and as carefully as he could, Edge _tugged_.

He’d done this in battle, didn’t want to think about that, about souls struggling in a pitiless grip, glaring blue as he sent them smashing against walls and ground, beating them with their very essence.

This wasn’t like that, as distant as another world. Stretch’s soul came to him almost eagerly, settling softly into his palm. Delicately silver, almost translucent, it didn’t have a physical weight and yet, it seemed heavy, resting in his hand. Carefully, he cupped his other hand around it, drawing it further out. Such a small thing, to hold all the wild exuberance, the genius, the pureness that was his Papyrus. Everything that he was, that sweet brilliance, all held in the palm of Edge’s hand.

Stretch made a low, shaky sound and Edge darted a look at him. His sockets were closed, his teeth parted, and he was panting softly. In his hands, the soul gleamed brighter, impossibly even more beautiful and Edge stroked a thumb over it, testing the strange there/not there texture of it. 

He could feel him, Edge realized dimly. As the soul’s warmth bled into his palm, so did _he_ , the very essence of who he was, and it was _beautiful so beautiful and warm and love, lovelovelove_

“edge,” Stretch sounded alarmed, his voice seemingly coming from far away. “you’re crying.”

He was. He could still feel them brimming, overflowing down his cheekbones, but through it was that overwhelming brilliance. Lapping over him like a wave and leaving him drowning in it. Thickly, Edge slurred out, “you are so beautiful.”

“thanks, but i think maybe that’s enough.”

The soul drew away, lifting from his hands and almost Edge curled his fingers around it, almost resisted that gentle tug, almost whispered _please, let me, just let me_. Instead, he managed to open his hands and let it fade, the soft, ethereal glow vanishing back against Stretch’s sternum.

Edge blinked, his sockets felt sticky and aching. A gentle hand cupped his cheekbone, thumbing away the dampness, Stretch leaning in with concern, “that was supposed to make you happy.”

“It did,” Edge said, hoarsely. 

Stretch’s hand drifted down, tracing his collarbone through fabric before resting lightly over his sternum, fingering the buttons on his shirt. His own soul pulsed wildly, painfully, at Stretch’s wistful expression, instinctively rejecting, and it was difficult to keep himself from pulling away.

“Do you…do you want…” Edge forced out, even as he struggled against his own automatic denial. 

Stretch looked thoughtful for a moment then shook his head. “no. i don’t think you’re ready for that.”

Perhaps he was still more affected than he thought, because a sudden mixture of guilt and hurt crashed through him, coupled with shameful relief. He crawled forward, pulling a startled Stretch into his arms and blurted out, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“whoa!” Stretch wasn’t resisting, leaning pliantly into Edge’s unexpectedly desperate hold. He didn’t resist Edge’s hands scrabbling over him, trying to somehow caress and clutch in the same moment. “wait, wait, it’s okay. i get it.”

“It’s not…it’s not that I don’t trust you,” Edge stammered out, frantic to explain, to make him _understand_ , and he’d never felt so inarticulate, nothing he was thinking sounded like anything more than an excuse. 

“hey, i get it, i do,” Stretch had both arms tight around him, swaying a little, almost rocking him, and Edge swallowed his shame, closed his sockets and allowed himself to bask in that comfort. “look. if and when you’re ready to show me. i’ll be here and if you’re never ready, i’ll still be here, okay?”

His tongue still felt too thick and stupid, “I should…I…love…”

“edge. come on,” Stretch said with gentle exasperation, “you were just holding my soul. you know i understand.” 

Did he? Edge wasn’t sure of that, but his memory of that brilliance was soothing, the deep love he’d felt within it. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Edge slurred. Unexpected weariness was dragging him down and he was sagging into Stretch’s arms, for once allowing himself to be held up. 

He could feel Stretch smile against his skull. “yeah? you’re not so bad yourself.” The barest brush of a kiss lingered at his coronal sutures. “i love you, so, so much.”

 _I know_ , Edge didn’t say, sighing as he sank down. It was strange to be the one curled into Stretch’s lap, drowsing, but Edge didn’t have the will to resist. He drifted between sleep and wakefulness, relaxing into the gentle touch of hands against his skull, fingertips tracing his spine. Stress that had settled so deeply into his bones that Edge no longer noticed it was seeping away, leaving him looser and more relaxed than he’d been in an age. He couldn’t, quite, feel the pulse of Stretch’s soul but he knew that it was there, that delicate silver hidden safely away.

His own soul pulse softly, uncertainly, before subsiding. Someday, maybe, someday, he could…he would…a soft hum broke through his circling thoughts, and Edge sighed softly and focused on that, on the quiet melody that Stretch was absently singing, unfamiliar and sweet, and this, this was Edge’s safety, his brilliance, his love. 

This was where his soul lay, not in his chest, but with this aggravating, brilliant, _beautiful_ Monster. 

His last thoughts as he drifted to sleep were ones of love. 

End chapter one


	2. Lufluos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same events as in ‘Soulful’ but from Stretch’s POV

* * *

The thing was, Stretch knew he was being the asshole about all this.

He’d been really damn sick, he knew that, and Edge had issues about that shit. Fuck, who didn’t? There was no one out there thinking it was a-okay that the people they loved were hurt or sick or what the fuck ever.

So, Edge dealt with that by layering on the protectiveness which was no kind of surprise because Blue did the same damn thing. This was High HP Takeover 101, and Stretch should be able to give Edge that. In theory.

In practice, he wasn’t very damn good at it. The forewarned texts came like clockwork every two hours, and angels wept, he hadn’t moved off the sofa since the last damn text. Exactly where did Edge think he was going to go? Hop a bus to Ireland for some damn Riverdance lessons? It was difficult to keep the snark at a minimum when you had to come up with a new variation on ‘I’m fine’ every two damn hours.

Except…snark came at a guilty price when Edge looked so tired as he came home from work. There were so many things he was trying to handle right now and here Stretch was, sprinkling his bullshit issues on top of Edge’s current shit sundae. Edge was on the verge of making _himself_ sick working so hard and trying to take care of the house, of Stretch, of everything, and the worst part was, there wasn’t much Stretch could do about it except try to keep his prickish nature at a minimum.

That left him here, trying to think of a way to make up for being an asshole without actually saying ‘sorry about the whole asshole thing’. Not that he wouldn’t, fuck no, but apologies were easy. Dime a dozen. He wanted something a little more tangible.

He couldn’t cook worth a damn so making dinner was out; seemed more like a punishment than an apology to make Edge choke down a plateful of whatever he managed in a burnt offering. A little apology sex _seemed_ like a good idea, but Stretch could admit he wasn’t really up to a marathon yet, and a quick round of missionary wasn’t probably wasn’t going cover it, especially if he fell asleep in the middle of it.

So far, he’d managed to allow a serious amount of cuddling after dinner, letting himself fall asleep in Edge’s arms because it was useful in settling his hubby down and besides, like Stretch was going to say no to a nap. But he was still on the lookout for something better.

Like so many good things in his life, the idea came to him from the television.

He was watching ‘Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives’, because that show was the shit and Stretch had no idea why people were always down on Guy Fieri on the internet because hell, that was a guy with style.

Anyway, the episode had wandered into mac and cheese territory, a wonderland that was near and dear to Stretch, and at one point, they referred to it as soul food.

Soul food.

It clicked a little lever in his head that sent an idea down through the tangled paths of experiments, pranks, and various television theme songs, straight to his guilt center and there it hit the buzzer.

Edge had looked so damn hurt when Stretch asked him to leave the room when the nurse pulled his soul and even when Stretch had shown it to him later, that hurt had only shifted states, liquid pain to icy fear when he’d seen the IV. Not exactly the stuff of romance. There was a pretty good chance he’d be interested in a private viewing when his soul was in its natural state.

It was intimate, sure, souls were intimate as hell, but he’d also spent the past week having everyone but the janitor give his soul a looksee. A big deal, yeah, but there were levels and honestly, now that he thought about it, Stretch was a little surprised Edge hadn’t brought it up before. 

He suspected it was an Underfell thing. Somehow, he doubted anyone in that little sliver of the multiverse was handing their soul over on Lover’s Day with flowers and chocolates for a little bonding time. To Edge, this was probably a much bigger deal than it was for him, but that was okay, it didn’t make it unimportant.

So, yeah, there was a plan. If Edge wanted to see his soul, hell, if he wanted to touch it, Stretch was fine with that. No one else had ever run away with screaming heebie jeebies from touching it, there were decent odds that Edge wouldn’t either. Plus, he could probably work it out so that Edge got a little more out of it than most Monsters would.

Stretch knew a little bit about souls; it had been years since any of those experiments, and yeah, cut that fucking thought off right there, but he did remember, and he knew how the focuses worked.

Souls could work on a low level of empathy; if he focused on how much he loved Edge while he was touching his soul, then Edge should be able to feel a little of it, without anything else that Stretch didn’t want him feeling bleeding through and if there was one thing he was sure he could handle, it was focusing on how much he loved Edge.

This was a great idea, Stretch was sure of it. If he worked out the odds, it was about 95% chance that it would turn out fine, less than a 5% chance of it ending horribly! Fuck it, let’s roll those dice.

Probably he should have waited until Saturday. Let Edge get in a good night’s sleep, wake him up with a few kisses, play up that shyness that Edge liked so much, and they’d be on their way. Except Stretch was shit for patience and now that he had the idea in his skull, it would rattle around like a maraca until he took care of it. So tonight it was.

About a half-hour before he was expecting Edge home, Stretch went up to their bedroom, peeling off his sweatshirt and tossing it carelessly on the floor. The hamper was literally a step and a half away, but Stretch had a thing for that little twitch Edge got in his socket when he saw clothes scattered around. It was a kink, so sue him.

The sweatshirt didn’t make a difference anyhow, it wasn’t like clothing impeded a soul, and Stretch might proudly be an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. Edge liked how he looked, like the delicate lines of his bones, liked to run his hands over them, testing the smoothness. He was feeling better, he looked better, might as well let Edge have a treat to go along with the main event.

He hadn’t made the bed when he’d gotten up and he took a minute to smooth out the covers before scooting up to sit in the middle. Edge would be home soon, he needed to work fast, and Stretch took a deep breath and gingerly pulled out his soul. He hadn’t looked at it since they left the hospital and it would be better to take a quick peek. Edge probably wouldn’t handle any surprises very well.

It came easily, hovering over his outstretched hands. Silvery pale, a sign that he didn’t have any LV, and the mark where the IV had been was gone entirely. Good enough.

He heard the front door open and hastily dismissed it back, checking himself over. Jeans and a tank top, check, soul lookin’ good, check, ready for takeoff.

“come upstairs,” Stretch called, and he could hear the shuffling downstairs pause, clothing rustling, probably taking off his coat, and then feet on the stairs, coming up fast, well, someone was eager.

Edge filled the doorway when he stepped in, his eye lights a little bright and focusing in on him like a laser. “Hello.”

Oh, fuck. Stretch couldn’t help shivering, that husky growl, shit, maybe apology sex was a great idea…no, no, down boy, remember the plan, eyes on the prize and other various encouraging shit.

Instead, he gestured Edge in, patting the bed across from him. Edge was a little confused but willing enough, and he waited patiently for Stretch to spill the beans.

Stretch felt a flush rise in his cheeks, okay, yeah, so this was pretty intimate, far more than sex could ever be and of all the Monsters who’d ever seen his soul, ever laid impersonal, clinical hands on it, Edge was the very first Stretch actually wanted to touch it.

This was supposed to be for Edge, but Stretch was finding that he wanted this, too.

“i’m feeling a lot better,” Stretch said, little hesitantly, ““and i thought maybe you’d want to see my soul when it isn’t wired in like frankenstein.”

Want might not be a strong enough word. Edge’s eye lights _flared_ wide; apparently, this was something he’d been yearning after for a while and never mentioned, yeah, this was gonna be a big deal to him, and that was okay.

Of course, Edge tried to give him an out, no surprise there, geez, it wasn’t like Stretch was the one who’d brought it up to begin with. And it wasn’t much of a surprise that Edge wanted to be the one to pull it, no, no, control issues, go on ahead.

Stretch didn’t mind. He trusted Edge with a hell of a lot more than his soul.

The sensation of someone else getting a grip on your soul was usually foreign and maybe a little unpleasant, at least in Stretch’s experience, and while it didn’t hurt, it was weirdly uncomfortable. Usually.

The delicate tendrils of magic that lassoed his essence and coaxed it forth were like nothing Stretch had experienced before and he closed his sockets, exhaling shakily as it slipped free and settled lightly into Edge’s hand.

Oh. That felt…oh…

Okay, he’d had other Monsters handle his soul before but none of them had ever resonated like this. Maybe…maybe it was because of who they were, he and Edge, the flipside of the same coin, he needed to _talk to sans and red but not now, now he had to focus on edge, he loved him, loved him so, so much, edge was his brilliant sunshine through darkness, his safety from himself as much as from the world, and he wanted to show him that love, wanted him to feel it…_

A little hazily, Stretch opened his sockets and could only stare in shock.

Edge was crying.

He hadn’t even known Edge could cry, he’d never done it, not once since Stretch had known him. Stretch was a little bit of a damn crybaby himself, not that he cared, own it, bitches, but Edge—

Tears were trailing from his closed sockets, not crimson, not a match to his magic the way Stretch’s were, but silvery and pale, a mirror of his soul.

That…Stretch had never seen anything like that before.

Um, yeah, maybe it was time to stop.

Edge didn’t protest but he was still obviously pretty damn reluctant to hand Stretch’s soul back so quickly. His tears stopped the moment Stretch’s soul faded back into his sternum, leaving streaks of wetness on his cheekbones.

Carefully, Stretch reached up and ineffectively wiped away one thin, silvery trail. “that was supposed to make you happy.”

Edge’s voice with thick, warm, as he murmured, “It did.”

The tears weren’t exactly convincing him, but Stretch decided to take him at his word. He gave up trying to wipe them away, bone wasn’t exactly great as a sponge and, unthinkingly, he let his hand drift down, resting his fingertips over Edge’s sternum and wishing fleetingly that he could touch, just for a second…

He could feel Edge stiffen, rejecting it wordlessly. Ah, shit, Stretch hadn’t meant to put that idea into his head, he knew better than that.

“Do you…do you want…” Edge forced out, because of course he would. Of course he would offer, even though he wasn’t ready for that by any means. Even though it would upset him, maybe even traumatize him to force his soul out for no better reason than he felt like he owed it. Of course he fucking would.

Stretch couldn’t think of anything he wanted less than to hold an unwilling soul, even one that loved him.

Turning him down didn’t take things down a notch as hoped and almost sent Edge into a fucking panic attack, and shit, shit, this was not how this was supposed to go. This was supposed to _help_ , not make things fucking worse, and what kind of asshole did Edge think he was, that he’d demand a soul fondle in return when Edge was so unready for it?

Exhaustion worked for him for once, and Stretch was able to soothe him down, gently, set Edge at ease, and fuck, they should probably talk about this later. Probably.

Probably weren’t gonna though, because he already knew what Edge was afraid of, what he was so terrified Stretch would see.

And Stretch wasn’t about tell him that he already knew exactly what Edge’s soul looked like. Didn’t want to tell him he’d seen it the first time they’d met, swollen blood-red with LV, patchy veins of darkness scattered over it. He’d been in a bad damn way when they’d first arrive, but so fucking what? Stretch had been too; from the first step out of the portal, his own soul had been so faded it was a wonder he hadn’t already fallen down.

Red had seen all that from the beginning and so had Sans. They’d all known the stakes, for what little it was worth. It was over and done with, though, no point in talking about it now. And Stretch didn’t look anymore at anyone, not often, didn’t _judge_ , none of them did that Stretch knew of. Souls showed something of a person, yeah, but they didn’t show everything and it was pointless to form a judgment on one aspect of a person when there was so much more left unseen.

But it didn’t mean that he didn’t know Edge’s soul was so much lighter since then. LV never left, but it could fade, it could lighten, those dark patches vanishing. His soul would always be red. It didn’t mean it couldn’t be beautiful.

Edge was so far from ready to hear any of that. 

Holding his soul must’ve been pretty damn draining because Edge was all but asleep in minutes. Resisting it, sure, because his love wasn’t very good at giving in, but eh, a little petting, a little singing, and he was out like a light.

Even in his sleep, Edge’s grip on him was tight, both arms around his pelvis and Edge’s skull was resting in his lap, his sockets closed and that weariness seeping away. It left him looking a little softer, a little warmer.

Beautiful, Edge had called him, so beautiful, and Stretch had to believe him. He’d been holding his soul, there wasn’t much denial Stretch could offer.

Very lightly, Stretch traced the crack that ran through Edge’s socket, the unevenness of it rough against his fingertip. Edge was beautiful, too, in so many ways, and maybe Edge wasn’t ready to hear that yet, not yet, but it didn’t mean Stretch couldn’t see it.

-finis-


End file.
